


Owner of a Lonely Heart

by SailorStarDust1



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Dubious Consent, Implied Sexual Content, In which Kaz is a psychological mess, M/M, Parasite Kaz, Parasites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9432983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorStarDust1/pseuds/SailorStarDust1
Summary: Kazuhira embraces a newfound freedom—naturally in the worst way possible.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orionrkt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionrkt/gifts), [yamaneko19xx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamaneko19xx/gifts), [CoreBlooddrinker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoreBlooddrinker/gifts).



> This'll probably be my last BBKaz fic until BBKaz Day in September (Oh, and there's now https://bbkazday.tumblr.com/ to go along with https://twitter.com/BBKazDay!) so I wanted to write something good. I do enjoying writing, yet tend to feel self-conscious over whether it /is/ actually good or not, so please keep leaving feedback!
> 
> My apologies in advance if this is an uncomfortable read (I can't recall writing something so dark before). Kaz is a very angry man.
> 
> I've only seen Parasite Kaz fanarts by Twitter buddies (and I think a fic or 2?) so I'm definitely interested in seeing the various interpretations out there! Fic title is just because I'm a big fan of Yes, Jethro Tull, etc. :3

His memory was fuzzy on _just_ where it all went wrong.

No, that was a lie.

Faint—almost fuzzily camera-recorded—memories, of the Skull Unit attacking in the sudden mist, a somewhat routine reconnaissance mission in Afghanistan—those bastards sparing no moment, nor any comrades, as they brutally sliced through Miller's men as if they were paper dolls.

Radio knocked off Miller's belt during the swift attack, Ocelot merely heard static at Diamond Dogs Mother Base. Anxiety immediately kicked in, Russian curses spewed under his breath as a red gloved hand clenched tightly at his headset. Why _now_ of all times, when John and his Phantom were still within their deep sleep?

And yet Subcommander Miller's struggles were only beginning, pinned to the sands, flat on his back while he spat up dirt and blood, his skin coated in a fine sweat underneath his torn uniform, adrenaline and anger in tandem overdrive. One of the Skull members had the nerve to _bite_ Kazuhira—were those fangs?—who simply snarled at his blood-splattered hands from the now fallen, kicking the demon's midsection before several piled atop him. All he could do was groan from the seething pain, eyes unusually heavy, darkness soon overtaking him.

When Diamond Dogs backup arrived some five hours later, all the cautious Staff had to report back to Ocelot was a body count—and Miller's dirtied aviators recovered among the deceased.

How Kazuhira wished that specialized XOF unit had killed him then, recalling his awakening in a musty, dimly lit, room within an Afghan village, occasional orders of soldiers shouting in Russian to him, or their comrades.

 _He_ would have to wake up sooner or later, right?

Kaz's wrists, bound to the wall, were long past aching. They were numb. How many days had already passed? Weeks, even? He had quickly lost count, bag usually kept over his head not helping matters.

Whenever the Boss—no, Snake—finally quit sleeping, certainly all would be well once more. Their revenge from nine years ago _would_ be had. This current fiasco only affirmed Miller's suspicions that Major Zero was somehow involved— _to hell_ with the British gentleman's claims; years ago over the phone, that he had nothing to do with the attack on MSF—there was no other explanation around the bizarre circumstances of this unfortunate capture.

Unexpected sabotage wasn't terribly shocking, in Miller's line of work.

Pathetic, really. A job better suited to Ocelot or Big Boss himself, but Kaz had been extremely adamant with Ocelot about taking the job as the perfect distraction, to keep any enemies off Big Boss's trail.

And, instead......

Miller had unwillingly stumbled into a trap. Of all his fucking luck in these empty, drifting, nine years.

Throat dry, a weak cough escaped the blonde man's cracked, bruised, lips. It barely registered within him that tears prickled the corners of his eyes—vision worsening or naturally screwed due to his miserable conditions were irrelevant.

Snake would someday return to Kaz, and their new Mother Base. All would be made right once they'd return home. Together.

At that time, under Soviet torture—dehydration, starvation, waterboarding, beatings—Miller didn't give much thought to his right arm naturally weakening since his left leg eventually followed suit.

And yet, the brutal attack of the Skulls was nothing compared to the lost limbs, long lost home of MSF, the Truth, and, thus, ultimately _losing_...

No.

He'd rather not think about it.

* * *

Imagine the blonde's surprise. His nearly month-long stay within Diamond Dogs medical facilities for observation and care, all readings normal—despite his evident missing limbs, and perhaps, ultimately feeble attempts at hiding his mental illnesses. Depression, self-hatred, bitterness, paranoia, conventionally hidden behind a mask of authority and revenge.

He didn't think much of his worsening vision, due to latent photosensitivity, occasionally seemingly clear up—a quirk of the fucked up state of his body, he assumed. Or perhaps those stronger prescription lenses in his aviators were, in fact, helping his issues...?

Imagine his surprise, healed up and properly used to his crutch—after a blood-curdling scream one morning, Ocelot nearby Miller's quarters, running in to see what the commotion was. Pale, the blonde sat upright in bed, his missing limbs regrown in gray hues amidst pus and blood, butterfly-shaped splotch marks forming against his pale blue eyes that flickered green...

Snake was deployed with Quiet to investigate The Devil's House the day prior, a short mental regrouping at Mother Base occurred before their pilot—call sign Pequod—picked them up once more.

Needless to say, Ocelot's genuine insistence at Miller resting until Medical could reach them did not go over well.

“Miller—Damn it, Kaz, _settle down_ already!”

Gritting his teeth, the blonde found himself struggling against the cowboy's arms, those bitter memories of Ocelot admitting the truth of Big Boss's grand plan, the nerve of that _imposter_ V listening to Ocelot's advice over his own, ultimately, the loss of his only true home: MSF.

“Ocelot, back the _hell_ off!”

 _Why_ wasn't he allowed to die in the flames of the crash that heart-wrenching day, alongside Snake?

“Not until you settle your ass down.” Edge to his voice and loosened grip on Miller's shoulders aside, Ocelot forced composure. Despite John having left with Quiet in the wee hours of the morning, cooler heads _would_ prevail in this utterly bizarre situation. Adam would see to it firsthand, considering the Boss's absence.

Silence.

Miller's faded, angered, blue eyes shifted to green, surrounded by butterfly-shaped splotches. He stood with clenched fists. The only sound in the room, to Ocelot's wide-eyed but otherwise silent shock, were slow exhales from a...gas mask...?

Intriguing. The floating redhead—momentarily sporting a Diamond Dogs armband against his straitjacket—tilted his head, having recently departed from both the shrapnel man and the Man on Fire. This world-weary blonde had _so much_ rage pent up within, certainly he was a clear successor as a conduit, however brief of a time that would be.

Licking his lips while reaching for his Tornado-6s, Ocelot swiftly fired a warning shot as his eyes narrowed—bullet whizzing past the strange boy's cheeks, simply blinking. Awaiting orders.

Mind clear, it was then that Miller realized.

Power. Strength. _Freedom_.

He needn't be anyone's puppet, anymore. He could easily throw away nine year yearnings of dying alongside a man who never needed him to begin with.

Big Boss...Kazuhira would see it that Snake would pay for it all.

A dangerous smile forming Kaz's lips, it couldn't help but grow further as the floating child effortlessly raised a hand, a bookcase within Kaz's quarters shifting—only to float towards Ocelot, various novels and reports spilling from the shelves. Rolling out of harm's way, Ocelot kept his revolver trained on the strange kid.

“Miller, stand down!”

Full on grin unabiding, with a flicker of Kazuhira's own wrist, metallic spikes burst through the floor of his slightly vibrating room, the floor's foundation cracking against shredded carpet and broken dresser mirrors.

“ _Miller_!”

Frustrations increasing, all Ocelot could do was aim point-blank at the XO's head. Truthfully...he didn't want things between them to end, not like this. “What about your future?!”

Still-green eyes bore directly into cool gray. Kaz's voice steady while turning his back. “I have none.”

Adam brokenly screamed at the sudden onslaught of pain. Essentially frozen in place due to his body's shock, he didn't miss Kaz's smirk at the spikes protruding from the cowboy's foot, spewing blood and cracked bone a mess. One last insult, it seemed—as Ocelot dropped to his knees with watery eyes.

His “butterfly” marks disappearing, Kazuhira simply refused to stay. Let that woman—a monster like him—let that _pathetic_ , self brain-washed Ocelot, let that obedient _mindless_ Phantom, do all of Big Boss's dirty work; commit various sins in his place.

Standing on the edge of the platform—thanks to a hole in the wall (the young boy's doing) from his former room—his hands gripped the safety railing tight. The floating boy hadn't left Miller's side, patiently waiting for whatever their next move would be.

Kaz's eyes changed to the blue of the glistening sunlit oceans below. His aviators and Diamond Dogs beret...The thirty-eight year old paused, items clutched in his “miraculously” healed right hand. Nodding to himself, Kaz slowly cast both articles aside, cast below, into those watery depths. Ocelot's cries of pain and the floating boy's quiet breathing the only sounds accompanying these actions.

Noticing something out of the corner of his eye, Kazuhira blinked. The young boy had offered a hand. His tired eyes turning green, he slowly accepted this Other's bizarre warmth. Essentially floating away, across Seychellen waters, would've been a remarkable experience—if his heart hadn't been caught up in revenge.

Face twisting into an ugly smirk, he reasoned that soon enough parting ways with this boy was fine.

The Hell Master had much planning to do.

Venom had been stunned at the emergency radio transmissions that came in from a pained Adam mere minutes after the disastrous encounter. What had Snake done to fail Kaz, fail _them_? Purely unfathomable.

Quiet, for her part, had cursed the rotten luck once the pair made their emergency return to Diamond Dogs. If only she had sensed the differences within the Boss's XO sooner, “communicated” via their Parasites, perhaps she could've...

And yet, nothing would have helped.

All Diamond Dogs could do was push forward against whatever bizarre goals XOF had hoped to realize.

* * *

Six long months had passed. Understandably, Mother Base had been on high alert. Situation considering, Big Boss in South Africa had no choice but to send Ahab an...informative...cassette tape ahead of schedule—his hand forced in sending Adam one that contained the phrase to undo his hypnotherapy...

Cup of coffee in hand, Big Boss grunted at the confidential documents from two months prior scattered across his modest desk. Skull Face's eviscerated body at OKB Zero, entrails strung across Sahelanthropus like twisted Christmas lights...The photos and report Ahab had sent Ishmael's way were proof enough of who had done such a thing, yet it frankly made the generally unshakable Snake sick to his stomach, picturing his former XO so far gone.

Coffee set down, John adjusted his leather jacket collar, ignoring the feel of something wet sting the corner of his eye. Mentally ruminating his agenda for that day—discussing resource stockpiling with the beginnings of an R & D team—it would grow in time, once Outer Heaven and Diamond Dogs merged—securing whatever nuclear weapons the local Private Forces kept secure for XOF, and then probably—

A sudden breeze made Snake lose his train of thought. Brows furrowed, he didn't recall cracking open his window that morning. Eye falling to the source, the Snake's blood ran cold. Long blonde hair fallen against his shoulders, Parasite-infected gray hand lightly resting atop open shutters, a weapons belt attached to hip-hugging booty shorts on his otherwise nude body, that same build as always...Kazuhira Miller was crouched low against the box window, his cold _green_ eyes meeting Snake.

“It's been nearly ten years...You kept me waiting. Jackass.”

Snake nearly choked from shock. Hearing the reports were one thing, but seeing his ex-partner reduced to...this? Finding his voice, the pushing fifty-year old could only _begin_ to respond: “Kaz, I...”

Calmly cutting himself off, the Boss changed tactics by throwing _those_ reports against his desk with a flourish. Reclining back into his office chair, hands underneath his head.

“Just how many more do you plan to kill, Kaz?”

That bitter yet familiar voice merely offered: “I may be nothing more than a freak like that woman, but don't misunderstand. Once you and Zero are dead, _I'll_ be free. I'll finally earn some measure of peace.”

The changed man before Big Boss—was that a butterfly pattern around Kaz's eyes?—had immediately evaporated into mist, Snake not sparing a second to raise his gun, on personal high-alert.

Were they really going to play this shitshow of a game, _now_ , of all times?

Snake grunted from the answer presented to him: a sharp blow to his head—a punch from behind, before Miller's presence swiftly rematerialized in front, swiftly kicking Big Boss's midsection—and gun—away. Memories of what those freaks had done to Kazuhira himself.

Holding onto his desk to straighten and maintain balance, Snake cursed his luck while ignoring his now-bloodied face, lips, and aching skull. Mapping out the best course of action...

Miller would decide it for them both, Parasite arm tightly wrapped against Snake's neck, the former MSF commander roughly swung at Miller's temple in a futile effort to get the blonde off for some kind of leverage.

Coughing at the sudden rough _crack_ to his skull from Snake's backwards connecting punch, Miller smirked. A bruise was actually beginning to form, Kaz was sure of it.

“So you've still got it.”

Snake snorted, despite rapidly losing oxygen from Kaz's inhuman grip. “I've never lost it.”

The blonde's weight shifted as he pinned Big Boss flat on his back against his own desk, forgotten coffee now staining the carpet at their sudden jostling movements. The older man blinked as Kazuhira straddled him, grinding downwards on Snake's evident erection.

“Filth.” Kaz muttered with lowered and disgusted, cold eyes, hand trailing downward to unzip Snake's pants.

Snake, in response, quietly swallowed while calmly averting his gaze. Refusing to give Miller the satisfaction in thinking he'd won.

The Parasite merely smirked with lips inches away from Big Boss's own, Snake's beard tickling him.

“Super sensitive hearing, you know.”

Happy to find his target, Miller firmly grasped the other man's scrotum, nails lightly raking across the soft flesh. His body stiffening from discomfort, Big Boss managed: “Why all this...?”

“I was _forced_ to give up my humanity, Snake!” A painfully hard squeeze in retaliation, the older man grunted as Kaz continued: “Rather than fear it, I've learned to embrace it...But I sure as hell won't allow you or Zero's kind to do what you will.”

“Suddenly self-righteous, are we?”

Kazuhira saw past Snake's attempt at squirming away to regain control, pinning his former lov—Boss's shoulders to the desk, Snake's own head brutally meeting wood with a loud crack.

A scoff from above. “Nothing like that. Snake.” Gaze hardening, overcome with some unspoken emotion, Kaz wasn't aware of his fingers trembling as he began to shake leather jacket covered shoulders.

“I just want to know. You've had plenty of opportunities to gain the upper hand, and yet you're holding back. _Why_?”

Snake blinked to clear away the stars from his eye, moaning lowly, to quietly say the words Kazuhira dreaded to hear throughout their entire brawl. Colombia, 1972.

A tense, at least minute-long, silence as their eyes properly, searchingly, met. Green reverted to blue, Kaz's butterfly marks vanishing.

“Snake, **don't** —”

“Refusing to kill you was my unspoken promise once you finally agreed to join up. Go ahead and finally kill me if you'll feel better about your sorry state. I can't say I'd blame you.”

He had dropped to his knees, fists clenched where even that gray skin was coated in sweat from the onslaught of immense internal stress, hitting like a freight train. Choked, desperately held back, sobs.

“A....a _bastard_ like you...forgiving me...!”

Shakily using his desk as leverage to rise to his feet, Big Boss frowned while adjusting his pants, and pocketing himself. He wasn't looking for his CQC blade, but...

Ah, there it was.

Lit cigar planted between his teeth, bloodied to hell, Snake's tired features were betrayed by the surprisingly gentle gaze he cast towards Kaz below.

A fingerless gloved hand falling to the silently sobbing blonde's shoulder, together, they would rest.

In a mutual, respectful, silence over Kazuhira's wounded pride.

**Author's Note:**

> “I've given up my humanity, Jojo—Snake!”
> 
> (I can't get enough of that BBKaz = Joseph/Wham seiyuu joke...) 
> 
> And yes, Ocelot gets better. It was just a long, painful, process. ;_;


End file.
